Stories from the Ruins
by SilyaBeeodess
Summary: A collection of short stories based on my fanfic for '9,' '911.'
1. A New Age

"It's scary-looking."

The comment was murmured about the bustling static of the black-and-white television that sat some distance away and the hissing of the stove as their mother prepared dinner for the evening. The young, red-headed girl who had voiced it continued to stare at the sphere-shaped being that had appeared on the small screen from her place at the wooden dining table that separated the parlor and the kitchen area of their home—her drawing left abandoned with a mix of fright and curiosity for the mechanical creature. The child inwardly winced as the figure was then attached to an even greater piece of machinery, amplifying its overall terrible appearance with a huge, sharply-angled core fitted with spidery limbs of various tools and clamps.

" _Today dawns a new era!"_ a prerecorded voice of a man's strong tenor, " _Let us praise this new technology. Welcome to the Age of the Machine!"_

"I don't like it," she added in a much softer voice, sliding further into her chair until just her eyes peered over the flat tabletop.

But neither her mother nor the trio of siblings that surrounded her—each to their own devices—gave concern for her words. Her eldest sister sat by her, working diligently on her studies for school. The papers stacked before the latter were filled with words and equations that were as good as foreign to the other child, a complicated language that only grown-ups could indulge in knowing. Her youngest sister, being far too young to understand the broadcast, continued to play with the scattered array of blocks spread before her.

Only her brother—the only one also watching the news—shrugged as he cast her a brief, sidelong glance before returning his eyes to the screen. "It's cool," he answered, his tone edged curtly with the defensiveness only a young boy could have over a particular interest of theirs. "It's a robot."

A grin of humor twitched at the corners of the mother's lips at her son's simplistic explanation. "It's going to protect us," she finally voiced, though her eyes remained on her task. Carefully removing the lid of a large pot with a nearby dishtowel, she took a large, wooden spoon and begun stirring the boiling contents—keeping back to avoid the rush of stream that billowed from it. "It's going to build lots of other machines that will watch over us and make our lives easier."

"Oh." The small redhead looked back and forth between her mother and the television. No matter what was said, the thing still managed to intimidate her. Still, she also had no reason to doubt those reassuring words. It was just like when her mother told her about thunder: She didn't like it, but she knew there was no sense in fearing it. "So it's a good robot?"

"Yes, it's a good robot." And with that last reassurance, as the news broadcast continued to talk of the large factory that had recently been built some distance from the city limits, all interest in the matter died and the young girl went back to work with her crayons.

"We're writing essays about what kind of machines we'd make in school," the eldest girl spoke up, her caramel blonde ringlets uncontrollably bouncing around the frames of her cheeks as she lifted her head and set her pencil aside. She flexed her hands briefly work out some of the strain from writing for so long.

"You'll have to read it to your father and I then," their mother replied. Pressingly, she added, "And don't you have some studying to do too, Peter?"

"We have to make a drawing," was all he said. To this the young woman turned from the stove and raised a stern brow, smirking knowingly. The boy only ever mentioned a part of his homework, but sure enough would then reveal to them some assignment he needed help with at the last minute. She knew well that he had a test coming soon. If it weren't for it being a weekend, she might've scolded him for the partial lie.

The comfortable discussion was interrupted by the sound of a key jangling the front door lock, and each of the children perked up at the sound. Peter sat a bit straighter and the young redhead thrust herself from her chair completely to step before the door. As it swung open and a familiar man stepped inside, the girl darter for him with her arms spread wide in a readied hug.

"Papa's home!" the eldest daughter shouted to her mother, a wide smile lining her face. All at once, her homework was abandoned. Her brother had already risen to his feet, but the youngest of them struggled to rise from the floor on chubby toddler legs. Pausing to scoop up the nigh cloned version of her younger self, the adolescent took the last steps to her father in order to greet him.

All of this had been expected, and yet the man fumbled to balance both his briefcase and a medium-sized paper bag as the redhead remained latched upon his hip and the other three children crowded around him. With an awkward grin, he bid them to give him room with a wave of his hand, the bag crumbling noisily at the gesture.

"You're very late tonight," their mother said, folding her arms across her chest good-naturedly from her position at the kitchen entryway.

"Marcus kept me tied up at the office," he explained apologetically, setting down the briefcase at the end of the cream-colored loveseat to relieve himself of part of his load. "What's cooking?"

"Pot roast," was the short reply as the woman was reminded of the dish left simmering. She turned away once to check on it as she continued to speak, "And it's nearly done, so I don't want you sneaking any sweets to them like you usually do."

But sure enough, by the time she spun back around the paper bag already sat open on the dining table and the redhead popped a quick piece of something into her mouth before hiding the wrapper back behind her. A look of gleeful mischief was shared between father and children as the remaining trio hid their own pieces of candy within their pockets.

"Here I am, trying to raise four healthy children," she pursed with false disdain, "and you're giving them sugar right behind my back."

"That's because you're the reasonable one." The man ran a hand once over his already combed back hair before capturing her in a gentle embrace by the waist and pulling her to him. He smiled playfully, "I'm the amusing one." With that, he leaned closer to give her a light kiss on the cheek.

A few eyes rolled at their parents flirtations, but before the children could voice their discomfort their father turned around and took the tot from the eldest sibling—pulling out one of the wooden seats lining the dining table and resting with the child in his lap. She squealed merrily as he then bounced her up and down upon his leg. The tabletop was then cleared and the oldest child rounded into the kitchen to help her mother finish setting everything for dinner.

Though the broadcast continued, excitable and lively chatter drowned it out as the family nestled around the table and shared with one another the stories of their day. It became the faint background of the relaxed moment, so assured were they in security. It was the dawn of a new era, after all, and everything seemed to shine bright.


	2. Bridging Gaps

_((_ _ **Author's Note**_ _: Hey, all! Just wanted to let everyone know that the first chapter to the sequel of 911 has been posted, so if you enjoyed the first story be sure to follow the next!))_

It was difficult at times for both the born Stitchpunks and former human children to get used to one another; however, as time wore on, they were slowly beginning to grow accustomed to living together in their shared home at the library. Peter often helped Two with his inventions, Three and Four were excited at finding new playmates in the pair of young girls—Peggie and Rosie, and Sarah was a readily available companion for Six at nearly any hour when the artist once kept to himself in the confines of his own mind. Nine was a familial figure to them all, Seven was slowly letting go of her reservations toward the four children for having been human, and even One was beginning to show some regard for them by planning out a curriculum for them.

Considering all of that, Five supposed he had no reason hold reservations against them either. It wasn't that he feared or hated them—he knew they were good people—but he didn't know how to approach them. The Scientist had been the one and only human he had directly interacted with before meeting them, and being his and the other original Stitchpunks' maker there was a strong difference in their relationships. When he awoke, he instantly felt he could trust the aged, hard-working man that had cupped him in his hands and placed him on the ground. Then the war happened: He was nearly crushed several times over by human soldiers and lost his eye in a battle between man and machine. When comparing the two extremes, how could he ever know how to conduct himself around the former humans he now lived with?

Peggie and Rosie were the easiest, because they were so much like the twins: Playful and friendly. Peter was more withdrawn, but then he knew it was because of how bad he felt essentially ending his and his sibling's lives as humans rather than on any Stitchpunk's part. Two was also working on helping him and the young boy befriend one another. And Sarah, she was easily likeable, helpful, and kind, but…

He watched from afar as the ragdoll-like figure with a military green pocket stitched along her right side busied herself in the children's section of the library—crafting a makeshift ladder out of two pencils, yarn, and a number of crayons. Sarah was fierce: For all of her kindness and gentle shows of affection, she reminded him as a sort of young-hearted cross between One and Seven. Even though she stood almost a head shorter than him, Five couldn't help but feel the slightest bit intimidated by her.

Still, he didn't think he had even thanked her yet for all she had done when she had been human: Taking care of Two, helping Nine find them all, and retrieving Six's key when he had spent weeks searching for it to calm the artist. He needed to fix that, and let her know that he welcomed her into their family too.

As the young girl turned around and propped her newly made construction against one of the low bookshelves, Five took a deep breath and shuffled over to her. After a moment of waiting for her to notice him, he eventually decided on speaking first, "Uh, T-Thirteen…?"

He inwardly winced as she turned around and stared at him with a raised brow. Even though she and her siblings hadn't been painted with numbers as the rest of his kind had, it was growing more and more customary to call them by the order of their soul transfers than by the names they went by. It began with Six, who always called them by numbers—even before they became as they were now—and now nearly everyone expect for Two switched between calling them by that and their real names. He was uncertain of how comfortable they were with it though, knowing that they probably hadn't fully adjusted to their new lives yet. A Stitchpunk's body didn't function the same as a human's after all.

"I mean—Sarah," Five corrected himself, bringing his hands to his chest and twiddling his fingers nervously as he offered her a sheepish grin. "H-hi…" This was going nowhere fast… He swallowed. "I… I just wanted to talk to you. I didn't thank you back then for getting Six and me out of the cavern and, well, I thought I'd do that now…"

The warm smile that pulled at her mouth him helped relieve some of the tension in his shoulders, and he shifted into a more relaxed position as she replied, "It's nothing. You helped save me from that Behemoth, so I'd say we're even."

He gave a shy smirk at that. It didn't really feel like they were even: They had been unknowingly taken by the machine too at the time and wouldn't have been able to have left the outskirts of the city without her help. Or at least it would've been an eternity before they made it back within the walls. His gaze moved past her to the ladder, eying her handiwork. He knew she spent more of her time finding supplies and materials than she did crafting, so he couldn't help but wonder over it. "What are you doing?"

She planted her hands on her hips, following his gaze with a sidelong glance over shoulder. "Trying to get a few books down from the next shelf," she answered. "I found _The Sword in the Stone_ , and _The Good Master_ is up there too. Have you ever read them?"

He could only shake his head. The Cathedral that had once been their safe haven hadn't offered much in the way of books, and he preferred to work hands-on rather than do research as the twins enjoyed doing. He didn't think he had ever read fiction either.

" _The Sword in the Stone_ is one of my favorites." Stepping away, she began to ascend the ladder's crayon rungs. "It's about a boy called Arthur who meets a wizard and becomes a king. I've never read _The Good Master,_ but one of my friends back in school liked it. She recommended it to me before…" She paused, drifting into her one train of thought. She didn't have to say anything though: He knew she meant before the war and the thought that her friend was likely dead must've stirred some painful memories for her. He understood how much she must've missed the people she knew all those days ago: Even though Eight had been little more than a bully, he had been a part of their family and at times he missed the protective giant.

"Well, she said it was good," Sarah finally concluded, revealing nothing. Again, she moved up the rungs of the makeshift ladder. A few steps later though and one of the crayon's gave beneath her, the sting of yarn untying it from the pencil beams.

With a startled cry, Five dove the short distance to the ladder to stable it as she slipped and fumbled to grasp the next rung—her arms wrapped tightly around the crayon. However, it wasn't long until it broke off as well and gravity took hold of her. Already in position, Five spread his arms out to catch her and only a split second later felt her weight collapse within his hold—snagging her by the waist. Unprepared to brace her, his knees nearly buckled out from under him and he stumbled back. Somehow though, he managed to keep on his feet and prevent them both from tumbling to the ground.

"Are you alright?" he questioned, trying to catch his breath after he recovered from the initial shock of the moment.

"Yeah," she murmured, gripping his arms as she tried to regain her balance. "Sorry about that…"

He gave them both another minute to recover, focusing once more on the ladder itself. The idea had been great, as had most of the materials, but it was clear that she wasn't used to building anything. He snickered good-naturedly, "The crayons were too heavy to begin with. You needed something sturdy to walk on, but lighter than that." After giving her a brief glance over, he moved back to the ladder and slid it onto the floor once again. Piece by piece, he untied the crayons and instead fashioned the strings of yarn themselves for the rungs—binding them neatly and firmly to the pencils. He had worked with Two for long enough that building things had become part of his domain. The task was quickly and easily done for him.

"For now, we'll use the crayons to support the bottom of it," he explained once his work was finished and he reset the ladder back where it had been, "but we'll need something else later since they might roll away and the ladder can fold in on itself like this." He turned back around to face her to find her blinking at him myopically, and he felt himself turn sheepish once more. All he could do was scratch the back of his head and motion her over.

She beamed, jogging the short distance and scaling up the ladder again. He moved a few of the crayons into place with his foot before also taking hold of the ladder for added support until she reached the second shelf at last. He watched on as she roamed the flat level, dragging two of the books by their spines and dumping them onto the floor for her to read later. "Is there any books you think I might like up there?" he asked, trying to keep up the conversation.

She tapped her foot in thought, before pacing back and forth along the shelf until another novella caught her eye. " _Professor Branestawm_ ," she grunted as she pulled free from the other books as well. "It's a comedy."

He helped her down before they moved to glance over the covers of the books, and slowly Five began to feel more at ease. The longer they talked, the easier he felt around her. Maybe… things would be just fine.


End file.
